


leaves from the vine \\ an isaac tettares character study

by daephanes



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Angst, Canon typical body horror, Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Mentions of Death, but i wrote this at 2 am so please be nice, i wish i could write something other than angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daephanes/pseuds/daephanes
Summary: In which Isaac Tettares reflects on his life and his death.(alternatively: in which kit commits heart crimes at 2 am only to cry because of them the next morning)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	leaves from the vine \\ an isaac tettares character study

_Leaves from the vine, falling so slow_

Isaac Tettares let a guttural scream tear through his throat as he forced his way past his earthly limits and to burned up any shred of thanergy he had could find within himself. It was as if everything was moving through molasses in those last few moments. An inferno of emerald scorched its path on the great ivory tusks racing toward him, charred the laboratory floors, and singed his mascara-tinted eyelashes at an eighth of the speed it had seconds before. He found himself fascinated with his own work, the color of the blaze was ten times more vibrant than he had ever managed prior to then. That green-blue tint had been his family's specialty for generations, according to his mother. She used to call it the 'Tettares Teal' in his toddler years, just as his necromantic abilities were beginning to bud. He would watch in awe as the fire licked at her palm before she blew it out with a sharp exhale and began tickling his sides until he was shrieking with laughter. Things had been . . . not peaceful, no that wasn't the right word. There was no such thing as peace on the Fourth. Things had been simpler when she was alive. Back then, both of his parents made sure to hand-pick assignments that would keep them out of direct danger. Back then, his father smiled and he didn't refuse to meet his son's gaze because he couldn't bear to look into eyes so similar to his dead wife's. Back then, Isaac had feared death. Maybe now, he could let go of that. He had known what was expected of him since the tender age of four. Ten years later, how could he ever ask for more than to die in battle while protecting his best friend?

_Like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam_

Those perfectly terrible barbs of bone grew at a rate that Isaac wouldn't have believed if he hadn't seen it for himself. Whatever his fire managed to burn away, they just replenished five times over. He wondered if this was how his father felt in his last moments. When his father left for the state visit that ended up being his demise, Isaac remembered the look of resignation on his face. It was as sharp and clear as the ring of metal on metal. Isaac remembered saying that he would miss him, and that he would see him soon. Both of them knew that this wouldn't occur, though. By the time his remains came back in a box the size of a book, he had already taken over as the head of his family. Part of Isaac knew that he should be accepting of what was about to occur. It was a very Fourth way to go, and he should be proud. His siblings would be proud of him. His father would've been proud. He hoped with every fiber of his being that Magnus and Abigail would've been proud too. Maybe one day, in the River, their paths would cross again and he could ask them if he had done things right. He prayed that Jeannemary could forgive him. No cavalier should have to watch their necromancer die.

_Little soldier boy comes marching home_

The first stake of bone drilled through his right leg, straight through the bone, and all of a sudden they were all there. Breaking skin, tearing ligaments, slicing his tendons like he was made of warm butter. It hurt less than Isaac thought it would. Or maybe that was just the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Out of the corner of his eye, the last ounce of thanergy left his body to fuel the blaze that now consumed the construct, he saw his best friend of eight years fighting for her life. Isaac Tettares and Jeannemary Chatur were introduced on the day of Isaac's mother's funeral. They were six at the time, and Isaac was trying to keep from crying in front of the crowd as he stood there alongside his father. Jeannemary had given him a firm slap on the shoulder -- which in the language of Jeannemary translated to a tender back pat -- and said nothing. They both knew already that no good would come of crying. Crying wasn't the Fourth way. Both of their mothers had passed in the line of duty, and that's all a true, loyal soldier should ever want for themselves and their family. But Jeannemary understood him and his pain in a way no one else had tried to. She had helped him bleach his hair and pierce his ears and mark around his eyes with thick lines of black kohl and mascara after his father's death, she had forced him to sleep when he stayed up for days on end researching the books that Abigail sent him, and she even tried to put him on a workout regiment so that he could keep up with her. That last one didn't last very long. She would listen as he rambled about whatever new necromantic theorem Abigail had sent him for hours, and he would listen as she raved about new tricks she had either been taught or come up with on a whim during a duel with Magnus. After eight years, it was almost like they didn't need words. They understood each other perfectly without having to even open their mouths. So when Isaac met Jeannemary's eyes from across the room, he knew that she understood him as he apologized for leaving just like their parents.

_Brave soldier boy comes marching home_

Jeannemary yelled something at Isaac before the oddly kind Ninth cavalier began pulling her away, but he couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own heart throbbing in against his rib cage. As his eyes closed for the last time, he felt a thousand, thousand bones much stronger than his own pierce through his body and he reassured himself. At least his siblings: Ruth, Jonah and Joseph, Hannah, Aaron, Leah, and Mary would have someone to look after them. There was always someone to take care of orphaned children on the Fourth. At least he could say that he made his parents and his House proud. That was all he had ever wanted after all. . . .

But was it really what he wanted?

No.

No. No. No.

He wanted so desperately to live. He wanted to learn and to discover and to love and to be free of his duty to his House and to grow old, unlike anyone from his family before him. He wanted to live to make Magnus and Abigail truly proud of him and of how strong he had gotten. He wanted to read every book in Abigail's library. He wanted to go back and ask Magnus to tell him every joke that he could think of, and then ask him to say them all again. He wanted to see his siblings grow old too, and grow healthier than him and twice as strong. He wanted to tell the Emperor to stick it and that he didn't care about Lyctor-hood or fidelity. He wanted to be free of the Fourth House and their oppressive cliche of bravery unfettered by common sense. He just wanted to be there for Jeannemary. Jeannemary was the reason he was still alive to this day. She deserved a long, full life, and this was all Isaac could think to do to give her that chance. A ghost of a peaceful, resigned smile tugged on the corner of his lips as the pins and needles sensation of when one's limbs fell asleep drowned out the pain. At least Jeannemary would be safe.


End file.
